


The Promise

by kagakuninjatai



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, F/F, Politics, Slow Build, fuck the civil war ya feel, my god is this slow build, will tag as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2018-09-13 03:28:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9104665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kagakuninjatai/pseuds/kagakuninjatai
Summary: Alduin has been defeated, but now the Dragonborn's attention turns to the Civil War. With each side vying for her allegiance, she does the unpredictable and pledges herself solely to the service of Elisif the Fair, changing the tide of the war.The day the assassins arrive they are forced to confront the fact that another power is rising, and it will not stay solely on Solthsheim for much longer.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm literally just posting this because gdi I need to start this or I never will oh my god

"Are you sure this is the right thing to do?"

The Dragonborn turned to look at her companion, a soft smile on her face.

"I don't know." She sighed, removing the bridle from the dappled grey mare that had carried her from Riften. As she scratched the nose of her trusty steed, she continued, the smile slipping from her face. "I can't see any other option."

Serana continued to stare at her from under the hood of her cloak, her eyes glittering gold in the darkness. 

"Don't say it."

Serana smirked. "Say what?" She called back as she began to approach the gates of Solitude. The Dragonborn hurried after her. "I'm not going to say anything about the fact that the main reason you're trying to do this is because you don't want to deal with Ulfric Stormcloak trying to sweep you off your feet as soon as you choose his side, because that's what everyone thinks you are going to do, because you're a Nord, and Nords always stick together, not to mention the fact that you're the Dragonborn-"

"Okay, fine! That may be part of it but you forget..." The Dragonborn snatched Serana's hand and pulled her to a halt, their faces barely inches from each other. "Both sides are really, really, really racist."

Serana hummed in agreement. "And?"

The Dragonborn rolled her eyes at Serana's expectant look. "And I want Ulfric to back the fuck off."

"And?"

"And!" The Dragonborn leaned in and gave her a soft kiss on the cheek. "And because I couldn't love anyone else as much as I love you. Now come on, we've got a future High Queen of Skyrim to petition."

~~~~~~~

"Dragonborn." Lady Elisif called as the Dragonborn kneeled before her throne. "I would congratulate on your defeat of Alduin. Your victory will benefit us all, and has saved the lives of countless innocents."

The Dragonborn bowed her head. "I am humbled, my lady."

"My court and I thank you for all you have done for us. Not just for this feat of courage, but for the countless other tasks you have risked your life performing in order to make the hold a safer place for my people." Elisif stepped gracefully down from her throne, her feet padding softly to stand in front of the kneeling Dragonborn. "I would be honoured if you would take a place in my court as Thane of Haafingar."

The Dragonborn hesitated. Was she doing the right thing? The civil war was escalating quickly with the dragon threat neutralised, and soon she would be forced to take a side that she did not want to. Neither side would bring the peace she desired for Skyrim without making a sacrifice, a sacrifice that she was not prepared to make. She took a quiet breath, steeled her nerves, and stood on equal footing with the Jarl.

"Lady Elisif," She began. All the eyes of the court were upon her. She felt eyes boring into her back. "If you truly believe I am worthy to stand by your side, to protect your people, then please hear me."

Elisif's lips thinned into a pressed line for but a moment. She gave a swift nod. "Proceed."

What the Dragonborn said changed everything.

~~~~~~~

The changes began overnight. The Dragonborn's connections to the mysterious Dark Brotherhood and the Thieves Guild were put to use as Legion high command were "persuaded" to leave the city. Officials went missing. Men and women loyal to Elisif were put in their place. Envoys were sent to villages in the surrounding Hold to cement support for Elisif and her rule. Within a few weeks all Imperial Legion and Thalmor influence had been removed from Solitude. The city was now independent from the outside conflict.

That did not mean the conflict was gone however.


	2. Chapter 2

The cold, crisp air of a true Skyrim morning bit into her skin as she walked down the steps of Proudspire Manor. She yawned as she looked up at the sun, still low in the clear sapphire sky. She squinted and turned her attention back to Sofie, calling her name to stop her from rushing off down the street.

 "Come ON, mama!" Sofie huffed.

The Dragonborn yawned once more. "I'm coming, I'm coming...."

 Sofie scurried back to her side, grasping her hand tightly. "I know you just got home, mama, but..." Sofie glanced up at her timidly. "I just missed you. I missed you being here..."

 She smiled softly back at the young girl, squeezing her hand back reassuringly. "I missed you too, my love. And I am very excited to spend the morning with you as well. Now let's go see how the horses are doing."

 

 ~~~~~~~

 

 Katla was nowhere to be seen, but the Dragonborn saw that Blaise was already mucking out the stables. The boy was being taken advantage of and she hated it. Her sense of justice screamed at her how wrong it was every time she visited the stables, but, and she had discussed it with Serana, it was a necessary evil. The stable needed as many workers maintaining it as possible, keeping the horses in peak condition because the negotiations could break down any day now and they would certainly need cavalry troops at the ready when it became necessary. She pushed the thoughts of politics and war to the back of her mind and greeted Blaise as she and Sofie approached.

 "How are the horses this morning?"

"They're all pretty happy this morning." Blaise replied. He gestured to the dappled grey mare a few stalls down that Sofie was feeding a handful of hay to. The horse nickered appreciatively. "Clio seems pretty well-rested considering you two came all the way from Riften yesterday." Blaise walked her to another stall containing another mare, but this one was a brown and white piebald. Blaise scratched her on the nose. "And Caliope will need new shoes soon, but other than that she's doing just fine."

 "That's great to hear." The Dragonborn smiled.

"Are you heading back to Whiterun for the negotiations again soon?" Blaise asked eagerly. Gods only knew what he'd heard from soldiers and dignitaries passing through.

"I don't know."

"Oh, okay." Blaise said. He began to shift the broom he was holding from hand to hand. "Just... I can get all your saddles and stuff ready and-"

 "Thank you Blaise. You work so hard. Thank you." She smiled at him again and he beamed from her praise. She knew Katla gave him none despite all the fantastic work he did, so it was the least she could do for the poor boy. So she said goodbye, and she and Sofie left the young stablehand to his work, her heart aching for the fact Serana just would not let her bring him home with them.

 

~~~~~~~

With the influx of Elisif’s supporters, the Solitude market was crowded, even this early in the morning.

The Dragonborn looked down at Sofie, who was squashed against her side the crowd was so thick. “Stay close to me, little one.”

Sofie tightened her grip as the Dragonborn led them through the bustling square. She had thought Serana had been overreacting when she had told her the previous night that she had stopped letting their girls leave the house unsupervised, but now she saw that the city that she had known so well was now full of strangers. She saw mercenaries, ex-soldiers, and youths wanting fame and glory, gathering in the square. An Orc nearly knocked Sofie off her feet, the young girl seeming painfully small in the crowd.

Suddenly she heard yelling and saw a large group of people circled around three strangely dressed men. One of the men had grabbed a Khajiit by the scruff of his neck and was spitting curses in his face. She was glad that the city guards had taken notice and were in the midst of breaking up the fight. She began to turn to Sofie to ask if they needed to pick up anything to take home when an angry shout stopped her in her tracks.

“YOU!” The voice bellowed again.

She turned in its direction smoothly pushing Sofie behind her.

The larger of the masked men addressed her once more. “Are you the one they call Dragonborn?” She could hear the sneer in his voice. A guard grabbed his arm but the man shook it off and began to stalk towards her.

“Mama-“

“Hush.” She whispered, and gave Sofie’s hand a quick squeeze before releasing it. She stepped forward to meet the man halfway across the marketplace. She raised her face to look into his mask and said commandingly. “I am.”

As soon as she had confirmed it he struck her across the face, sending her tumbling to the ground. Defiantly she glared back at him, his figure casting a shadow over where she had fallen.

He began yelling at her again as she gritted her teeth. “YOUR LIES FALL ON DEAF EARS, DECEIVER! THE- ARGH!“ The man cried out in pain as one of the guards pulled their sword out of his gut. The man fell to his knees, blood pooling beneath his feet. He looked down at his innards, slowly falling out of the wound in his stomach and then raised his head. “You… You are just a shadow…” He gurgled, blood dripping down the corner of his mouth. “When Lord Miraak appears, all shall bear witness... None shall stand to oppose him! The TRUE Dragonborn comes…" The man slumped over, dead.

Dozens of people approached the Dragonborn, offering her aid but she refused it all. She just continued to stare at the man’s corpse. Gingerly, she reached over and removed the mask from the man’s face. She did not know what she expected it to be made of, but it was made of bone, carved not with the hand of a skilled craftsman but with a harshness to it… It reminded her of the dragonpreist mask she had stored in a chest somewhere in the basement, but it was a poor imitation.

“Dragonborn.”

She turned to find one of the guards holding a scrap of paper.

“Might help you find the bastard that sent ‘em.”

She took the note and murmured her thanks. She began to skim it as she wandered home.

What was going on on Solstheim, and who was this Miraak?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was listening to the latest episode of cr1tikal and co. podcast while i was writing this y'all should listen to it http://www.theofficialpodcast.com/


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look i know its been like 11 months to the day since i've updated this but i've literally done it out of spite so like shout-out to everyone writing really stereotypical fics y'all keep me angry and motivated to continue writing this shitty political thriller of sorts

The gash on her cheek still burned days later. The cultist’s glove had been made of a mixture of leather and some sort of bone, carved so carelessly that its jagged edges had raggedly torn her face when he had hit her. The guards had mused that they had been made of dragon bone, but the Dragonborn knew true dragon bones required a talented smith to even begin to shape them let alone turn them into any piece of armour. She had tried numerous times herself.

A wine-coloured bruise below the cut made it glow a burning burgundy against her pale skin. She could not hide the way she winced as she remembered Serana’s expression as she had walked through the door of Proudspire Manor hours after she had sent Sofie home, escorted by one of the many guards who had flooded the marketplace after the attack. Her face had changed quickly from anger to shock and back again. They had fought for the first time in a long time, trading heated words with Serana screaming at her about the danger she had put one of their children in. Her carelessness. Then her fear. Fear that the war had finally caught up with them. She had consoled Serana then, assuring her that it was a one-off attack and their family was safe, that she was safe, that the note that she had found on the corpse and hastily shoved in her pocket was just the ramblings of a few mad men and not something that made her chest tighten at the very thought. They had made Solitude their home, and she would never let anyone take away something that they had fought so hard for.

But that was days ago and there were more pressing matters at hand.

One of her Thieves Guild connections had reported seeing a small party of Imperial spies passing through Karthwasten headed east. Then a Stormcloak messenger had arrived at the Blue Palace, stating that the Stormcloaks and the Imperials would be gathering in Whiterun to negotiate.

The weather had been fine as they rode. No bandit attacks had slowed their trip. It was as if the Gods and Daedra themselves wanted this meeting to run smoothly.

The small party of delegates and bodyguards trampled through Whiterun as the sun shone down brightly upon them. The city was already bustling with soldiers but the atmosphere was tense. She smiled at some of the merchants she dealt with when she passed through but they refused to meet her eye. It made her sick to her stomach. Part of her wanted to slink away into the shadows, maybe even sneak into the bowels of Jorrvaskr like old times. The thought made her heart ache. So much had happened since she had left The Companions… Part of her always wondered what would have happened if she had stayed.

The ceremony in the towering entrance hall of Dragonsreach felt strained under the false pretenses shown between the three parties. Her ears had told her that most of the negotiators expected the negotiations to be short but she doubted that they had planned for the clash of personalities. The banquet that had been set for that first night was supposed to ease tensions, to make it so that each party did not see themselves as separate factions but as citizens of Skyrim, but if anything it was highlighting the differences between them.

There was no mixing between parties beyond tense yet polite exchanges.  As the night went on and the mead began to flow from a trickle to a steady stream, the anxiety she felt in the atmosphere did not dissipate. Lips loosened, men were getting louder. Part of her waited for when a fight would break out. Not if. A crash made her hand slip reactively down to her waist for her dagger. A drunk Stormcloak had knocked a tray to the floor. His comrades laughed at him as some Imperial soldiers huddled in a corner glared at him. Enough.

She made her way through the crowd towards the throne, where the real power was. Elisif sat facing her counterparts, a scowl that she was trying very hard to hide plastered on her face. She quietly made her way over to Falk Firebeard who was standing ever ready behind Elisif’s chair. The flickering light of the surrounding candles made the shadows dance, hiding her easily from prying eyes. Remaining in shadows, she whispered to him that she was leaving. Falk nodded, murmuring that someone would be sent to retrieve her at noon to discuss whatever happened the next morning. Nodding, her eyes flickered to the other occupants seated before her. Tullius was still here representing the Empire’s continued interests. He spoke angrily and loudly, above all others at the table. As he continued to rant, the icy eyes of the table’s final resident locked with hers. She bid Falk goodnight and turned her back.

~~~~~~~

The little house near Warmaiden’s was still there, and her key still fit in the lock. Inside it wasn’t dusty, but she didn’t know what she had been expecting. It had been over a year since she had stayed here, opting to stay at the inn whenever she passed through. It was empty, apart from some books, old equipment that she had long since replaced, and some trinkets she had been meaning to sell but just never gotten around to. The moonlight shone through the windows, giving off a cool silver light.

She got a fire going in the old kitchen soon enough, using one of the more useless books as kindling. The crackling flames soon filled the quiet air, and she pulled up one of the chairs. This was the quietest place she had been in some time.

Here there was nothing.

She sat there for a while, enjoying the peace, until she decided that she had better see the rest of the house. Grabbing her knapsack that she had dropped off at the house earlier, she climbed up the stairs to the bedroom.

It looked exactly like it did when she left. She wiggled her fingers, using her flames to light leftover candle stubs. Magelight would be overkill. She dumped her bag on the floor and moved to a chest, unlocking it and pulling a pile of furs and sheets to put on the bed. Suddenly her ears perked up at the quiet bootsteps echoing up the stairs. She froze.

Unsheathing her dagger, she quietly made her way downstairs. Edging around the corner, she scowled. A man stood by the fireside, staring into the flames.

“What are you doing here?”

He turned to face her. “I wanted to see you.”

The anger began to bubble inside her. “Get out.” She stormed past him, making for the door.

Grabbing her arm, he pulled her around to face him. “Lara…”

She snarled back. “Take your hands off me, Ulfric.”

He loosened his grip but did not let go. She continued to glare up at him defiantly. Half his face illuminated by flame, Ulfric Stormcloak said nothing. He just stared, head tilted slightly, solemn grey eyes boring into hers. There were silver hairs peppering his red-brown hair.

She turned away from him and tugged her arm from his grasp. Folding her arms against her chest, she pulled away to the safety of the shadows. He made no move to follow her.

She would not meet his eyes. “What do you want?” She cursed her shaky voice.

He moved to sit down at the table. Scraping a chair across the floor, he sat and sighed. “It’s been a long time.”

About 8 months.

8 months since she had had enough of the Stormcloak rhetoric. 8 months since she had seen a Dunmer beaten to near death by Stormcloak soldiers. 8 months since she had walked away from it all after there had been no consequences.

She made no move to speak. She had nothing to say to him. 

Slowly he began to speak. “When I first heard what you had done, I didn’t believe it, you know. If I had known it would be that easy to get rid of those bastard Imperials I would have done it earlier.” He laughed then, as if it had been just a simple fix. Her eyes narrowed. He turned his face towards the fire again, as if its depths had the secret knowledge to end all of his problems. “You are full of surprises.”

Again she said nothing.

“You shouldn’t have left.”

Her hands clenched her arms tighter. “I had other priorities.” She muttered.

“More important than unifying the country?” He growled.

She had had enough. The dragon in her soul began to snarl. Launching forward, slamming her hands onto the table, she yelled “You think what you’re doing is unifying this Gods-forsaken state!? I have seen men who fight under your name beat, butcher, and rape the people who call Skyrim home! You sit in your castle and preach that what you’re doing is right, and that ‘Skyrim belongs to the Nords’ and all of that bullshit but you!” She shoved an accusing finger in his stony face. “You have no idea how much you are hurting these people. Your crusade is costing them their lives!”

He slapped her hand away and stood up, moving closer, looking down at her with harsh, angry eyes. She matched his eyes and did not move. She would never let him intimidate her again.

“You more than anyone should know the price of war.” He snarled.

“My people suffer for no reason other than to fuel your rhetoric, you’re damn right I know!” She snatched her hair out of her face and turned to the side, baring her pointed ears. “Or did you miss the dozens of times your soldiers have called me a half-breed whore?”

His harsh expression faltered for just a moment as his eyes focussed on her ear. It did not last long.

A hint of a sigh passed his lips as he spoke. “I see it’s pointless to discuss this further.”

She nodded firmly and motioned to the door.

He said that he would see her at the negotiations tomorrow and she blew him off, slamming the door as soon as he had stepped over the threshold, making certain that she locked the door this time around.

She had forgotten how stubborn, how single-minded, how godsdamned hard-headed Ulfric was. Fuming, she stormed up the stairs. The anger bubbling away inside her made her want to fight. Or go home. She was not made for politics. Her mind flashed back to the truce she had had to single-handedly organise in the middle of taking down Alduin. She had been impatient and brash, but Ulfric had stood by her.

Since Helgen, she had thought that her place was with the Stormcloaks. She had travelled to Skyrim to see where her grandfather had come from, to embrace her Nordic heritage. Her grandmother had always spoken so fondly of the harsh, snowy northern land, so different to the idyllic Cyrodiil that she had been raised in. She had been harassed all her life for her Altmer heritage; at one point a group of men had even tried to cut off one of her ears. She thought Skyrim would be different, and for a while it had been.

The reveal of her status as Dragonborn had filled her heart with pride. She was a Nord, a hero of legend. Songs were being sung of her deeds in every inn she stopped at. With a sense of nationalistic determination, she had presented herself to Ulfric, pledging herself to his cause. It was destiny, his generals had boasted, with the Dragonborn on their side it was fate that they should free Skyrim from the tyranny of the Empire and the Thalmor.

That was over a year ago and everything had changed so drastically.

She cursed herself still for letting the propaganda blind her to the slimy underbelly of the campaign. For him blinding her. She was always on the front lines, paraded around as the Stormcloak’s secret weapon. Her defeat of Alduin had turned the tables of popular opinion. Surely the great Dragonborn, after vanquishing the World-Eater, would only think of what was best for the people of Skyrim.

And Ulfric had been supporting her throughout. Listening to her concerns over the Grey Quarter, consulting her on future battle plans, keeping her involved. She felt like she was truly a part of something more than herself.

Then she visited a young boy and he changed everything.

She saw the damage that the Stormcloaks had done to Aventus, and took revenge on the old hag running the orphanage at Riften in a fit of rage and sadness. Riften continued to slowly consume her, to make her see the side of Skyrim that had been shielded from her since her arrival. Brynjolf had courted her dragon soul with his honeyed words and the promise of gold. Within the Thieves Guild she had discovered a talent she never knew she had: Stealth. The infiltration of Goldenglow had been frighteningly easy. Even Vex had voiced her frustration with the job but she had completed it with no trouble at all. Delvin had joked that she was Nocturnal incarnate, the way she blended in with the shadows. The many side jobs and errands they gave her were quickly completed. Brynjolf had smiled at her, eyes crinkling at the corners, and said that she was the Guild’s lucky charm.

She had fallen asleep in the inn one quiet night and had woken on the other side of the country. A dark cabin, with three people kneeling masked by execution hoods, and a mystery woman saying that she owed the Dark Brotherhood a death. A whirlwind decision, she struck the thief with her sword. _You’re welcome to join us,_ Astrid had purred from her perch as she surveyed the Khajiit’s headless corpse, _With skills like yours, you could change the world_. She had been released then, into the dark, misty swamp, unsure of what her life was anymore.

It began to get crazier. Mercer betrayed the Thieves Guild, and she became an agent of Nocturnal to stop him. Conflict began to break out once more between the Empire and the Stormcloaks, and she was called into battle once more. She joined the Dark Brotherhood, performing assassinations all throughout the madness. It was frustrating, and often she became so overwhelmed with the amount of pressure she wanted to disappear.

Something had to give, and the choice was made for her on a fateful night south of Morthal.

She had been travelling with a group of Stormcloak soldiers from one camp to the next. They ignored her, as most of the foot soldiers did once they met her. She was not what the songs had made them believe. She was not some tall, blonde, busty Nord goddess with the power of a dragon inside her and a Skyforge steel sword by her side. As far as they were concerned she was proof that their enemy had infiltrated their lives, a pointy-eared freak who used magic tricks and fought with an old sword she had scavenged when she ransacked one of their ancient burial grounds when her tricks failed her.

She had been riding a borrowed horse, a young spirited thing, towards the back of the group when they passed the encampment. A Khajiit caravan, with a small group of Dunmer travelling with them. Immediately some of the soldiers began hurling abuse at them. Then a few of the more loudmouthed ones made their way over to them, demanding they pay for protection. Disturbed, she halted her horse and hurriedly dismounted, running over. Yelling, she demanded that they continue on the road. She told them to leave the caravan alone. The soldiers then turned on her, calling her traitor. From behind, a soldier punched her in the head. She cried out and fell to her knees, stars flashing in front of her eyes.

She woke hours later, still in the camp. A Dunmer woman was tending to her. She had looked around the camp and was shocked by the amount of damage the soldiers had done. Tents ransacked, goods stolen, and most of the caravan were injured. A Dunmer child was crying, and the woman tenderly told them to hush.  The Dragonborn thanked the woman but was surprised that she had even taken pity on her, when she was travelling with the men who had devastated their group. The woman had grinned and told her the men had taken her horse and all her belongings with it, and that she had been raised to show compassion to those who were down on their luck, particularly if they were of Mer blood.

The Dragonborn, although still lightheaded, made it her mission that night to heal the most injured of the caravan. She worked through the darkness silently alongside the Dunmer woman, remembering what her grandmother had taught her. As the sun rose every member of the caravan was fit to travel and she had made her decision. She accompanied them to the next town, where she bid them farewell and proceeded on to the next stage of her life.

She threw herself into her new role as Listener. Even as the Falkreath base burned around her and Astrid died in her arms, she did not yield. She rebuilt the Brotherhood from the ashes, and strived to make a name for them once more.

With the assassination of the Emperor she did just that.

The Empire’s hold on Skyrim was weakening, but so was support for the Stormcloaks. The Thieves Guild had become notorious once more, Riften again becoming known for its shady dealings. The Brotherhood thrived under the guidance of Nazir, and business was booming. The Dragonborn had disappeared.

Then the vampires descended on Skyrim, wreaking havoc across the land.

The Dawnguard called and she answered. A motley crew of all sorts from across Tamriel, she joined them in waging war against the undead.

She met Serana in the midst of it all and fell in love.

Serana became her heart. The way they fought together, laughed together, it felt like they were made for each other. Serana was determined to destroy her father’s dynasty, and she went to the ends of the earth for her. Months went by and they grew closer. At the end of it all, as the Dawnguard besieged Serana’s father’s castle, as her father’s ashes smoked on the stone floor, they confessed their love.

A lot had happened since then, and the Dragonborn had hoped that this final push for peace would be the end of it. Elisif would rule Skyrim fairly. She would control the Brotherhood and Thieves Guild from the comfort of the Solitude manor and spend the rest of her life with her ragtag family. No more excitement. That would be idyllic.

She sighed. As she lay on the bed in Whiterun, watching a small spider crawl across the ceiling, reflecting on all that had happened to bring her to this very moment, her thoughts returned to that crumpled note shoved in the bottom of her knapsack. A feeling of dread crept up her spine, making her shiver. She lifted a hand to her face, gently rubbing the marks the Cultist had left. The doubtful voice in the back of her mind whispered anxious worries to her, what if they came back, hurt her family, hurt her children? It was the first time in a long time she had felt so powerless.

There was nothing she could do about it now.

“Fuck off.” She said loudly to the empty room.

Rolling onto her side, she squeezed her eyes shut tight.

Tomorrow was another day of politics, and she had to be ready.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise bitch bet u thot u saw the last of me

The early afternoon sun shone a bright, warm glow over the party presently occupying the tables upon the Great Porch of Dragonsreach, which was about the only thing warm in that part of the building.

The Dragonborn sat behind Elisif and her main negotiators silently thanking Stendarr for sparing her from having to speak. A true act of mercy. She had slipped in quietly at the agreed time and noticed quite quickly that the negotiations were going nowhere. The air was heavy with tension, each leader glaring daggers at the other. Elisif sat tall in her chair, her jaw clamped shut, wearing a look that said she was ready to snap. Ulfric and Tullius were at each other’s throats. Tullius shot up out of his chair, yelling some line he had already proclaimed a thousand times over, and slammed his hands down on the table. Galmar Stone-Fist rose to face him, spitting fiery words of his own back. The Dragonborn sighed as the cacophony grew louder and louder, taking a sip of water from her mug and turning her attention to the hawks circling in the midday sky.

~~~~~~~

After hours of talking in circles, the parties had decided to break until after dinner. They parted silently, as divided as they had started. Smiling wryly, Elisif asked to be accompanied on her walk, and the Dragonborn obliged.

They wandered through the bustling marketplace in companionable silence for some time, eventually ending back in front of the Gildergreen.

The Dragonborn finally spoke up. “What are you thinking?”

Elisif let out a low sigh. “I knew it would be… difficult, considering how hard it was for them to even agree to a temporary truce in order to help you defeat Alduin, but my Gods…” She sat down heavily on a nearby bench, like the pressure of her role was slowly crushing her.

“I feel like I should be doing more-“

Elisif shook her head. “There is not really anything you can do at the moment.” She smirked. “You know how hard it is for men when they can’t have their way.”

The Dragonborn chuckled, but her smile faded quickly.

Elisif gestured to the space beside her and the Dragonborn joined her on the bench. For a quiet moment they watched the Gildergreen’s branches sway in the wind, the blush-coloured blooms contrasting the bright blue sky.

“You did what nobody expected. You believed in me.” Elisif turned to her and smiled warmly. She took the Dragonborn’s hand and held it tightly within her own. “And I thank you, Lara. I think that you choosing to forge your own path rather than the ones laid out to you is truly brave. What you have done for me, for all of us, I believe, has started us on the journey to longstanding peace. However, change does not happen quickly, especially when chaos has been the norm for so long.” Elisif stood up but did not release the Dragonborn’s hand. “We need to be patient.”

“My Jarl!”

Elisif’s head snapped in the direction of the call. A guard was sprinting up the path towards them. He skidded to a halt in front of them, breath heaving.

“What is it?” She asked, slightly hesitant. She released her hold, turning to face the man.

The guard tried to catch his breath before speaking. “There’s… There’s been another attack…”

The Dragonborn stood up.

Elisif looked at her with concern, and then back to the guard. “Tell us more.”

With a cough, the guard continued. “Another group of men with carved masks came to Solitude, looking for you, Dragonborn.” The guard nodded towards her.

She shouldered past Elisif. “What did they do? Was anyone hurt?” She was beginning to panic.

“Your Housecarl was injured-“

“Go.” Elisif interrupted.

She pushed past the guard and started to run.

~~~~~~~

She was pushing her horse too hard.

They rode all day and through the night. Galloping headlong through the wilds, hooves thundering along the cobbled roads, the young mare huffing and panting with the effort of maintaining the breakneck speed that the Dragonborn urged her to maintain. The horses of Skyrim were not built for this. They were bred for their endurance, to tackle the highest mountains with ease, not for sprinting halfway across the country. But they survived the journey, skidding to a halt outside the gates of Solitude as the sky began to lighten to a soft grey-blue.

Sliding out of the saddle, she winced as she landed on the ground. Stiff legs carried her past the guards and into the square of the city. Stallholders were organising their wares for another day of trade, some smiling and greeting her as she hurried through the small throng of people mulling about as the city began to wake up. Her aching knees creaked with every step but she continued to hurry home.

Shoving her key into the lock, she shouldered the door open.

The warm early morning light streamed in through the long ornate windows, specks of dust shimmering as they lazily floated through the air. Her footsteps echoed as she moved into the kitchen, dumping her pack on the floor by the table, and begin to fill the kettle with water. Hooking the old iron thing over the fire, she sat down on a chair and waited. She was tired but too anxious to even think of dozing off on one of the couches. Her mind was numb. Resting her elbows on her knees, she stared at the flickering flames and felt the guilt wash over her. She should have been here.

“Mama?”

She turned at the soft voice and smiled. “Hello, my love.”

Runa stood beside her, eyes still hooded by sleep. The young girl yawned. “I thought I heard noise.”

She shifted back in the seat and pulled the girl onto her lap. Runa wrapped her small arms around her neck and rested her head on her shoulder. She returned the embrace in kind, laying a soft kiss on the girl’s forehead. “I’m sorry for waking you.”

“’s fine.” Runa mumbled into her shoulder.

They sat like that for a while, the Dragonborn relishing the peaceful moment, until the kettle began to release a shrill trill. As she began to prepare breakfast for herself and Runa, the chorus of bare feet pattering across the stone floor alerted her to the fact the rest of the household was now up and about, so she began to set out more plates as the two other girls slammed into her sides.

Reunion soon gave way to what life always was at home and it felt like she had never left. Sofie and Lucia chattered over their warm honeyed milk as Runa chewed down her oats, and the small, carefree world of her children, a world of toys and food and books and play, felt like an escape. The world beyond that thick oak door did not exist at this moment. She sipped at her tea and watched them quietly, silently wishing she could cherish this feeling forever.

“Do you think Lydia will take us to train today?” Lucia chirped.

Sofie looked at her sister thoughtfully. “I’m not sure. Mother said she wasn’t very well.”

“They were gone for a long time yesterday.” Runa chimed in. “Lydia really didn’t look well when they returned.”

“Lydia had a rough day yesterday,” A cool voice floated through the air. “And she needs her rest.”

The Dragonborn turned. Serana moved slowly through the kitchen and prepared herself some tea, the hem of the heavy maroon robe she wore dragging across the floor, pushing her dark hair behind her ears as she sat down next to Lucia. She stared into her steaming cup, dark circles forming beneath her glittering orange eyes.

“So, no training today, mother?” Sofie asked.

 “Not today.” Serana mused. “So that means no swords today.”

“But mother! They’re just wooden ones!” Lucia whined.

Serana took a sip of her tea and sighed. “No swords.”

Lucia turned to her. “Hey mama…”

The Dragonborn held up her hands. “Your mother has said no swords, so there will be no swords.”

Lucia let out a frustrated growl and stood up, scraping her chair across the floor. She glared at both of her parents and ran out of the kitchen.

“Don’t you dare wake Lydia up!” Serana yelled after her. She pinched the bridge of her nose and grit her teeth. Turning to the other two girls, she sighed heavily. “Can you two please make sure your sister-“

“Yes, mother.” The girls stood up and jogged out of the room, calling their sister’s name as they ran up the stairs.

The two women sat in silence, busying themselves with their food. The Dragonborn could hear the girls’ voices carrying from the upper floor.

“How is she?”

Serana did not answer for a little while. “Broken arm. A cut on her face. Burns on the arm as well…”

“I should’ve been here.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

“Serana…”

“Nobody could have known.” Serana looked at her stonily. “With so much going on there have been so many people passing through Solitude we never would have known whether the men who attacked you before were just some lunatics or-“

“But I did.”

Serana’s eyes widened. “What?”

The Dragonborn lowered her eyes. “I knew they weren’t alone.” She stood up and moved over to her pack, fishing the note out. She held it out to Serana, who tentatively took it from her hand. Her eyes flickered up to the Dragonborn’s face and then back down to the note. She read it slowly, her face contorting into a grimace.

“Who’s Miraak?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Paarthurnax would know if there was another dragonborn, wouldn’t he?” Serana asked, hesitant.

“Maybe? I mean-“

“Or Odahviing? He would come see you if he sensed it… The Greybeards would’ve sent a message, right?” Serana rubbed a hand over her face. She looked so tired.

“I... Look, I didn’t think it was a priority.” A big mistake now. Too much was happening.

“And now?” Serana lashed out. “Sofie was with you that day and you told me every thing was fine, and now Lydia is lying upstairs nearly dead! What if this happens again!? What if-“ Serana spat out the words from between clenched teeth, her hands balled into fists.

“I…” The Dragonborn froze. “I’m sorry.”

Serana put her head in her hands. “I know. I know, it’s just…”

The Dragonborn moved to her side, placing a hand on her shoulder. Serana placed her own on top of it, tracing circles with her thumb. Another wave of yells echoed from above and they both sighed.

“You’ll be off again, then?”

The Dragonborn nodded. “I can’t let this happen again.”

Serana stood, not letting go of her hand. “I’m coming with you.”

“No.” The Dragonborn pulled her hand from Serana’s grasp, moving it to softly cup her cheek. “I need you here. The girls need you here.”

“You can’t do this alone.”

But then she could not get anyone else involved. Lydia had already been hurt in her stead and she would not let that happen to anyone else. This was because of her, of her dragon blood: If people wanted to challenge that, she was ready. She had faced this doubt before, and she would easily do it again. Alone.

The lie flowed easily from her lips with a smile. “Of course. I’ll pick up some friends on the way to Windhelm.”

Serana hummed. The Dragonborn moved slowly, placing a light, chaste kiss on her lips. Pressing her forehead against Serana’s, she closed her eyes.

“If you don’t move now I don’t think you ever will.”

“Me either.”

She let out a chuckle and stepped back. Looking back into Serana’s smiling face, the slight weight of the lie began to fill her chest. Serana sighed and began to move towards the stairs.

“Come on, I’ll help you pack.”


End file.
